


Misha Collins Died Today

by LadyPoly



Series: Many Things and Many Pairings (Random Inspirations In 15 min or less) [1]
Category: Cockles - Fandom, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Canon Destiel moment, Complete, Death, F/M, Fandom referances, Grief/Mourning, Heartache, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 10:29:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5782855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPoly/pseuds/LadyPoly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a picture on FB that said, "The saddest four words ever" and someone wrote, "Misha Collins died today". This is the 1500+ word rabid plot bunny that had me sobbing into my keyboard. Now please, I know some of you like angst so I beg of you to read and tell me what you think. Short and sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misha Collins Died Today

**Author's Note:**

> Dearest Readers,
> 
> It would appear that not only were several of my works copied and posted as someone else’s and that a few people I trusted have also stolen ideas, images created and scenes.
> 
> Should you compare my stories to something I have not said was inspired by a prompt, or that someone has stolen, in the comments of the story please share it with the link, or the place it was and the writer's name or username. I will do what I can to contact them on my own if I need to. Please do not engage them yourselves. If I need help, I will sound the bat signal ;)
> 
> While I have dealt with the people involved the best I can, with the help of loyal reader’s and friends, I have to ask that you please keep this in mind. In the last several weeks it has become very clear to me that the majority of fanfic writers don't understand plagiarism. Stealing ideas without crediting, borrowing quotes, etc and claiming it as your own-- plagiarism. A form of fraud. You cannot take something blow for blow, change the setting and claim that either. An homage is also not done this way, and if you believe so-- it’s still a form of plagiarism.
> 
> When you cite the fandom, the characters etc, you show that you have given credit for the idea. What the writer does next if not stating a prompt and it’s source is their own. The canon ideas are given credit, the divergent is their own.
> 
> Now sometimes similarities inspired by scenes happen, but there is no reason why a comparison of the two should be clear. There is no reason for one writer’s voice to still be evident if you were inspired by their story while claiming your own idea.
> 
> I want to say this didn’t anger me, or hurt me but it did. It infuriated me and to be honest, I didn’t know if I should continue.
> 
> If I am slower to post things now, it is only due to feeling unsure. I am very sorry.
> 
> All my love,  
> LadyPoly

Misha Collins died today.

Jensen sits staring into the darkness of the bathroom as his brain replayed the words repeatedly in his head, like some ugly chanting he had no control over. The sound that tore itself from his throat was foreign, wasn’t familiar in any manner. He fell apart then, breath stolen by the weight of it, stomach burning, churning like an angry sea in the storm. His fists curl together, trembling despite their clenched position. His vision separated into uncontrollable wet, endless tears that shattered everything pleasant inside, right down to his soul.

_This isn’t happening…_

Jensen crashes to the tile, his knees stinging at the contact as every memory of the bluest blue eyes crossed his mind. The sound of the man’s laughter; the sound of his name in the man’s voice drowning out the blood pounding in his ears, drowning out the echo of his devastated sobbing. Jensen feels like screaming until he passes out.

_How is my heart still beating…._

“I love you, Jen.”

So many times their fingers entwined. Their faces so close, arms hugging one another tightly like two pieces fusing back together; laughter, eyes locked, blissful. Con photos, the light in Misha’s face, the feeling of his soul radiating off into everything he poured himself into. The scent of Misha still burned into his nose. When Jensen was lonely and he would be there, the way he held Jensen together when he couldn’t calm himself. Every moment another memory etched in Jensen’s heart at the sight of him. How could tomorrow suddenly just not have him in it?

_I love you too, Misha, God I love you too!_

Victoria, West, Maison...Jensen hugs himself tightly his fingers leaving bruises on his arms as he digs them into his skin. So many will mourn this loss, some will never move on. The world will be missing an Angel; will have a gaping hole in it no one will ever fill again. There was no one like him. Poor Victoria, he nearly vomits thinking of her grief. She would be missing something that she would never recover from, nearly her whole life stolen from her when his eyes closed. His children, his family, his friends, everyone would be so lost without him. The world suddenly seems so dark.

_Me, oh God, Misha, what about me? How the hell do I ever move on from this?! You made me so much better, unafraid and bold. How do I do that without you my sweet, sweet Angelic friend?_

Jensen is trembling; full body tremors as his tears fall endlessly. His throat raw as he screams and curses whatever it is in this life it is that takes people before their time, voice echoing back at him in the tiny space.  
They’ll be people who say it was God’s plan, that it was his time to go, that it will be okay. That this too shall pass.

Jensen will resist punching them; resist screaming as he tries so hard not to cry when he has to face everything outside the place he is in now.

_Fuck God’s plan, fuck whoever thinks this will just be okay! How can anyone’s plan be to wipe that sort of light from the earth, take away that brightness? This will never pass; this will never be acceptable! Oh, Misha, please; please don’t leave me behind!_

_I need you…. There ain’t no_ me, _if there ain’t no you._

********

It’s raining when they lower the casket. Jensen would vomit all over his shoes if his stomach weren’t as empty as the Sahara desert. Churning in its own juices as he swallows compulsively to keep from gagging, retching on his own grief. He doesn’t even feel the rain anymore, doesn’t even feel Jared and Danneel gripping his fingers, so hard their white from the lack of blood flow. He doesn’t hear the person talking. Doesn’t hear Victoria’s sobbing when Misha’s brother, the one who looks almost like him in every way holds her. His arms holding tight, grounding her to earth, with his strength, fearing that she may jump in with Misha if he were to let go.

He understands though, God, does he understand. He isn’t sure how to carry on either. It’s stupid and irrational and he stills has everyone else, but none of them give him what endless deep soulful blue eyes and the biggest, kindest heart he ever knew did. Misha was just Misha, a completely new human being, a completely new set of rules and emotions. He is irreplaceable.

The casket is nearly gone, people are throwing flowers as they walk past, grasping Vicki’s hand as the cracks in her composure show. She’s so completely and utterly broken.

_Take me with you._

_Don’t leave me behind._

_Don’t leave her here without you..._

He hasn't stopped thinking those words. He hasn’t eaten, hasn’t slept since they told him the news. He still hasn’t replaced his phone when it shattered across the floor where he dropped it. The coffee cup JJ made him in school for Father’s day met the same fate.

Now as they begin shoveling dirt upon the casket, even now, it still doesn’t seem real. It all still seemed like such a lie. As if it was someone else he was watching through, experiencing something that could never be happening to him, to the people he loves, to Misha.

_You’ll never invade my space again, never kiss me, or tease me. I’ll never hear your voice again; the world will never see the amazing things you still wanted to do._

Jared’s hand is shaking in his, matching tremors. The taller man’s face hidden behind a soaking wet mess of hair, his teeth clenched as his shoulders twitch. Jensen’s throat tightens. He grinds his teeth so hard they throb.

_What would Sam and Dean do without Castiel?_

_What do we do now without you?_

He grips Jared’s hand tighter as he lets go of Danneel’s hand. Turning they crush one another together, both of them hitting the grass, the dirt like they are the only people there. The wet ground soaks through their suit pants. Jared’s arms are suffocating, make Jensen feel as if Jared could break his bones as he grips him. Jensen takes in the familiar smell of old spice, the smell of musk. They cling to one another endlessly; their hands have long since gone numb from the grip. They hold each other as the suit fabric twists in their hands, feels like it's tearing. He holds Jared tighter than he ever has.

_I can’t fix this, Jay. I don’t know how to help you!_

Jared is sobbing, it’s the third worst thing he’s heard since this started. First Misha, than the sound of Misha’s children when they found out he was never to come home. Whatever is left of his heart, whatever was still beating in this moment now, shatters into a million pieces and grows colder than anything Dean Winchester could ever feel.

They don’t move even when their skin is pale, red and numb. They’re so cold from the rain, their teeth chattering even as they’re still shedding tears. They can’t let one another go. They're too afraid.

Vicki kneels beside them, her head against theirs, as she strokes rainwater through their soaked locks of hair. She is loving, gentle. Just like him.

“He loved you guys too.”

*********

Jensen places flowers on the warmest day of the year in front of a stone he wishes never existed. It still makes his heart beat heavily, sluggish in his grief. He remembers Misha’s smile.

It’s been a year, yet he still wakes up crying in the middle of the night a few times a week, especially when filming. He still catches sight of something left behind, something familiar, or something a fan would wear or say that made his throat close. Conventions were hell. He always ended up leaving the stage now. Jensen still feels his heart ache when he holds Victoria or the ever-growing Collins’ offspring in his arms. He would die for them; he loves them more than ever.

_It’s still not fair._

He brushes off some dust that settled on the black marble stone with a sleeve, his hand hovering as he strokes the letter M with his fingertips. Tears swim in his deep green eyes.

“Dean died yesterday,” he whispers softly, his voice shaking. He swallows, closes his eyes and presses his palm flat against Misha’s name, “His heaven was- his place in heaven was with Castiel.” Jensen’s lip trembles as he says the words out loud, “Destiel is canon. Dean finally told him when Cas was there waiting for him.” Jensen presses his forehead against the cool marble, the sunshine warming his ribs and back through his shirt. It’s over.

“I’m sorry I never told you everything. The countless things that I loved, still love about you.”

 _I know Destiel will never be the proper way to show you either, but I imagine you would be so proud to see it true. There is no_ Dean, _if there is no Cas._

A breeze caresses his skin as the trees ruffle their leaves and he smiles. From above him, a single feather falls against his shoulder, twirling to the ground at his feet when he grasps it gently.

It’s the bluest blue Jensen has ever seen. He curls it in his fist, kissing his knuckles.

_I miss you too…_


End file.
